Satellite People - [41]

III

I did not need to go far to question my first witness. Leonard Schelderup’s neighbour was the obvious starting point and as luck would have it, she was at home.

Halldis Merete Abrahamsen was, in her own words, the seventy-nine-year-old widow of a successful pharmacist. She was well off and her mind and all her senses were still in perfectly good working order. And I could absolutely believe that. It was also obvious, however, that her social life and horizons had shrunk somewhat since her husband had died and the children had moved out. The pictures, books and furniture were all those of a woman who spent an increasing amount of time at home, with her thoughts drifting further and further back in time.

This was a sad situation for Halldis Merete Abrahamsen, but very good for the investigation, as she seemed to have developed a keen interest in her neighbours instead. A small pair of binoculars placed to hand on the windowsill in the kitchen confirmed my suspicions in this regard. And the young Leonard Schelderup held a special position amongst the neighbours. This was due no doubt to the fact that he lived in the flat next door, but perhaps even more to his name and family fortune. Mrs Abrahamsen proved she had an impressive memory when she rattled off her neighbour’s family tree and the most recent estimates of the family’s wealth.

‘One still reads the papers and takes an interest in those around one,’ as she put it.

The widow first of all expressed her shock at the news about the ‘handsome young man’s tragic death’, and then proceeded to tell me everything about him. As a neighbour he had been very considerate and never disturbed her in any way. He left for work early in the morning and often came home late at night, because of his training sessions. Other than his mother, he seldom had visitors, and on the rare occasions that he did, the guests all left early without making any noise in terms of music or other boisterous behaviour.

She then lowered her voice discreetly and confided in me that a mysterious man had come to see him in the evening several times this autumn. As she remembered him, he was a young, dark-haired man, but she was a little uncertain of his age as he had a beard, and was wearing a hat and a winter coat with the collar turned up. ‘As if he was doing his best not to be recognized by anyone. Isn’t that rather odd?’ she added in a whisper. The only thing she could say with any certainty about the guest was that it was a man, and that he was above average height.

I dutifully noted down all the information about this apparent stranger. It was clear that her description did not fit any of the guests from Magdalon Schelderup’s last supper, unless it was Fredrik who had come wearing a false beard. On the other hand, it seemed unlikely that the murder of Leonard Schelderup had nothing to do with the murder of his father the day before. With the exception of his family and their fortune, Leonard Schelderup appeared to have lived a quiet life.

I pressed on and asked if there were ever any lady visitors.

Mrs Abrahamsen leant in towards me and lowered her voice even more. It turned out that Leonard Schelderup had lived there for ‘more than four years and seven months’, but she could not ever remember seeing a woman come here, other than his mother. ‘But then last night,’ she whispered with glittering eyes, ‘last night of all nights, I think he had a visit from a lady! Now isn’t that a coincidence?’

I had to agree with her and made a quick note.

Halldis Merete Abrahamsen had unfortunately been in the bathroom when the mysterious lady arrived. So she had only heard the clicking of her heels when she arrived at a quarter to eight and then the door closing behind her. She left again at twenty-five to ten, just as it was starting to get dark. But the widow had managed to catch a glimpse of a mink coat, small red hat and high-heeled shoes. The visitor had walked quickly down the path without looking back and then disappeared from sight. A woman of ‘good social standing’, that was obvious, but Mrs Abrahamsen was unfortunately unable to give any more details about her age, hair colour or appearance. But she categorically dismissed my suggestion that it might have been Ingrid Schelderup who had popped by to see her son. She knew the mother’s footsteps too well. This was a lighter tread that she had not heard before.

The first part of the story only served to strengthen my suspicions regarding Synnøve Jensen, to the point that I nearly drove straight out to arrest her. But then I hesitated when I heard that the visitor had a mink coat. I could not imagine that Synnøve Jensen would possess such a garment and had certainly seen no sign of anything resembling that in her humble abode. This was followed by another cold shower when I realized that Leonard Schelderup had telephoned me after the woman had left. So it was difficult to imagine anything other than that he was still alive.

When I asked about any later visits, Mrs Abrahamsen was evasive and apologetic. As she was not expecting any further drama that evening, she had gone to bed around ten o’clock; she had slept soundly, as she was suffering from a cold. She had woken up around midnight and thought that she heard some hasty steps outside on the stairs, but had then fallen asleep again without hearing any more. The doorbell had not rung, because then she would have heard it. When I asked whether the footsteps she heard later on that night could have been the same, only this time perhaps without heels, she was ashamed to say she did not know. She had only been half awake, and did not dare say anything other than that the footsteps she had heard around midnight were hasty.